Ace Up Your Sleeve
by Onetimerrequester
Summary: I decided to contribute to the shut down date my own story to commemorate a childhood's end. Angst ahead. What if the end really was the end?
1. Chapter 1

"Ace!" the name echoes around him, the silence deafening as he makes his way through the wreckage, searching. His mind still reeling from the past hours activities.

He has to find you.

He forces a twisted spire of metal aside, calling out again, desperation lacing his voice.

They had been played, foolishly misinterpreting signs, discarding information. Maybe things would have been different if they had just noticed.

They didn't anticipate the explosion. How could they have been so blind when all the tells were standing before them bathed in white and sporting a wicked grin?

He had missed it- but you hadn't. All along, you, his partner had always been almost in step with the villain; the rest of them all scrambling behind.

Your orders split the air like the crack of a whip, sent them running, mission aborted. Adrenaline fuelled him as well as the remnants of flashbacks of shattered glass and staring through snow at a burning base.

Rookie made it out first, floundering at the the transition from floor to smooth ice. He parroted the warnings; sending black suits scattering with his frantic urgency. He and Dot broke into the light just after, Gary following at her heels heaving.

Skidding to a halt he had just enough time to question the lack of anyone at his heels before the roar of heat and the boom of shattering glass sent them all sprawling.

So busy reminiscing, he nearly trod on his ex-nemesis had the scent of charred flesh not sent him reeling.

Gazing down grimly at glistening (blistered nearly beyond recognition) charcoal skin and a permeant in death malevolent grin that sent his skin crawling. At least the machiavellian villain was done terrorising the living at last.

Taking in a shuddering breath of crisp (smoke filled) air he persevered on, through the havoc he had sought to bring to an end, but not like this, never like this. Dread pools in his stomach at the silence, it creeps around him as he scavenges for any sign of hope.

Something catches his eye and he turns bodily, squinting through shades, relief surging through his veins at a familiar head of hair in the distance.

You're alive.

He cries out, breaking into a run, dodging over concrete and under wires; eyes riveted on you. He can hardly see you, partially obscured by a wall, but he'd recognise his partner anywhere.

After all this time he's memorised every detail.

His face splits into a grin as he rounds the corner, lips parting to cry out.

"A-"

No.

The word catches in his throat as his feet grind to a halt.

Dear god no.

It doesn't compute. He just gazes slack-jawed in denial.

Your face is unblemished barring a streak of soot marring your cheek and an uncharacteristic sheen to your lower lip.

Hair swept chaotically around your head now resting on the rubble. Eyes fixed on him. Smile forced to your lips.

(But your chest…)

Your left pant leg is ripped, easily repairable but had clearly snagged going around the corner; the other leg is bent and housing the file they came to retrieve during the mission- dedicated to the last.

(But your chest-)

You'd protected the file, instead of running away had grabbed it and hidden, with gritted teeth braved the fires.

But. Your. Chest.

His mind finally let's it sink in.

Chest stained scarlet in the embers, a jagged tip jutting through a ruined suit.

He chokes out the gasp clogging his throat, guttural with disbelief.

Not you.

Not Ace.

'This can't be happening' his mind loops as it's mantra as his body flows into autopilot from years of studying manuals, tearing off his jacket and shrugging his pack to off. He applies pressure as he gently lowers you to the ground, his jacket around you. He knows the drill: avoid shock; elevate legs; support head. HE assumes this is how he found himself cradling you.

The file pushed to the side and the folders name blares at him "Operation: Shut Down", what they had been trying to prevent, they seem insignificant now.

Your breathing is shallow, laboured. The cold that had been left in the raging fires place freezes each breath; it curls up in a beautiful display of mist. Her eyes meet his and she smirks slightly.

"Di-… Did we do it?" you ask, voice cracking between gasps, you sound as young as you did when it all started. Expectant eyes shimmering up at him.

It's as if it's all gone back in time. Rewound the clock to the good old days of protobots and small scale missions (not life and death). He wants to spend eternity in the old days.

Swallowing thickly (in his nightmares his voice will catch and choke on the words), he takes off his sunglasses (you got him them after Herbert's Plan, they were his favourite pair), and replies with pride and a smile of his own:

"We sure did partner."

They saved the day again… You saved the day just like always.

You laugh, sweet victory. Eyes scrunching and for a second he can see what you'll look like when you're older, crow's feet and grey hair with the flare of a phoenix in your eyes. A chuckle of his own escapes, red hair falling over his eyes slightly to disguise the sheen collecting in his eyes.

"I'm glad." you all but whisper, voice faint (but full of warmth).

('Me too Ace')

He takes your hand, "Let's get you home Ace."

He squeezes your hand.

You don't squeeze back.


	2. Epilogue

He sits there blankly as the sky burns above him and his world crumbles. Static breaks through his comm and the crackling sounds foreign, underwater background music. It envelopes him, let's him blank out and forget what is seeping into his suit as he clutches something- someone- to his chest. He can't tell if he is crying, he just knows his shoulders are shaking and he feels _so_ empty.

Dot will find him later, combing the area with a team. She will find a boy clutching his friend in his arms and sobbing into a crimson chest. Your chest.

Her tears will fall through shaking fingers, her other hand reaching to her headset to send out a shaky message for aid. It won't help.

Gary will arrive, lab coat ripped from the trip and his hands stained with ash. He won't be able to speak. Just gazing on at the scene and readjusting his glasses as if by some miracle the scene before him will change, all blow away like the smoke has, you'll stand up and laugh and everything would go back to late night coffee and thrilling operations.

It doesn't.

The worst will be when Rookie arrives, propellor hat askew and obliviously chatting to the figures ahead of him as he wonders on to the scene (his comm having been wrecked at the explosion). Then he'll notice. He'll know. He will fall to his knees in shock and scream, raw throat bursting with grief. He lost his Hero, the one person who never gave up on him.

The sky darkens as they freeze in the scene, the sky clouding over and the world fades to black. The final curtain call. You stopped Herbert. But Operation Shut Down is complete.


End file.
